Fajitas y fútbol

This weekend marks my fifth month living in Oviedo. I don't want to speak too soon and jinx myself, but all signs indicate the end of winter is near. It was as warm as 75˚F (24˚C ) yesterday, and some of the flowering trees have begun to blossom. I was informed that when it becomes unseasonably warm all of a sudden, it usually means rain is coming. I had to laugh a little at this observation--I mean, the sun rising in the east means it's going to rain here. Nonetheless there is a definite change in the weather lately. All week it has been clear and sunny in the mornings, the air near room temperature. Last night they predicted winds of up to 150 km/hr (90 miles/hr)!! I don't think they were quite that strong, but a tree near campus did get snapped in half by the force. I think I wisely chose to stay in and watch movies.

I also finally learned how to make a traditional tortilla española last night. I had tried a few weeks ago and I must say it was likely the most demoralizing culinary experience of my life. It's a fairly simple dish, a large omelette made of (at the very least) fried potato and egg. My first attempt, however, was a total flop. The potato was hard, it was burned in the middle, runny on the outside, and fell to pieces when I flipped it. I was very eager to have a Spaniard teach me the ropes. After paying close attention and making note of all the mistakes I made last time, I will soon take on the challenge again! Stay tuned...

These kinds of culinary escapades have certainly been a regular occurrence since moving into my new apartment. One great thing about living with a family is that I learned some simple Spanish dishes which are both tasty and economical, such as a seafood scramble or calamari. Whenever I get a hankering for more familiar fare, though, it inevitably involves a bit of adventure. Some of the most basic ingredients I took for granted in America are either unavailable or quite expensive here. The most hilarious example of this is Hershey's chocolate syrup, sold alongside French pâté and Italian caviar in the gourmet shop of El Corte Inglés for at least three times its American value. What's more, even when I find what appears to be an identical product, it always seems to taste just a little different somehow. My most vexing problem has definitely been spices. Spaniards use only parsley and garlic in most dishes, occasionally risking a little oregano or thyme. Since moving in I have more than tripled the variety of herbs and spices in the kitchen (who can live without basil or pepper??), and for Valentine's Day my loving mother further helped supplies with some spice packets, marinades, and season salt.


The other day I shared the joy of steak fajitas with Spain. They turned out extremely delicious. I found Mexican tortillas and salsa at Carrefour, which is like Wal-Mart except French (and thus much classier haha). I even made guacamole. Besides the lack of sour cream in this country, it was an authentic Southwest American dinner. Other expe- riments have been met with varying success. Shepherd's pie was good, but the ground beef tastes slightly different, and I really would've liked real cheddar. Spaghetti was a bit odd, as meatballs here come drenched in the most peculiar of sauces, and I was not about to spend $8 for the teeny wedge of Parmesan I found. I have also tried quiche, noodle soup, vegetable curry, lemon chicken, and rice pudding. Next up, chili, hummus, stir fry, and fish tacos!

I decided I am really into food, and as a result, cooking. I have my yummy successes and my cold-runny failures, but I'm always excited to try something new. I guess it's not exactly typical for a man to be able to cook, especially in this country. This may be because men live with their mother until their thirties, but my roommate lives on his own and at 28 the most elaborate thing he has ever made is a sandwich. Every time I cook he exclaims, "¡Cocinas guay, tío!" ("You cook awesome, dude!"). I happily share my food with him, and in return he regularly brings home assorted baked goods from this charming village he is always talking about.


Five months I've lived here now. I finished up my exams, and another semester has now begun. Right as I was getting to know people, they've gone and left. I'm very glad I chose to study the whole year here. One semester is nothing! I can't believe how fast it's blown by. Luckily, some of the best friends I made over the past months are sticking around, and I look forward to spending time with my more and more select buddies.

Today the English girls invited me to watch a soccer match with them. I don't know if you've heard, but Europe is very into soccer. I decided it was about time I experience this phenomenon. Oviedo's team was playing against their number one rival, Sporting of neighboring Gijón. I wasn't even aware Oviedo had a stadium, but look at this place!

Queremos esta victoria

"We want this victory"

If you know much about me, you know I'm not the biggest sports fan. The most important, most televised, most exorbitant sporting event in the United States, the Super Bowl, completely slipped my mind until a full day afterward. Realizing my oversight, I promptly opened up my computer to catch up on all the highlights of "Super Bowl Commercials 2010."

So maybe I don't fully understand the draw of sport, but at the match today I ended up getting quite into it and having a lot of fun. The stands kept filling with people and as the game progressed, the spectators got more and more involved.

Stacey, Me, Moo. Those seats didn't stay empty for long.

When Oviedo scored its first goal, someone on the upper balcony actually lit a flare! To give you an idea how soccer games usually go, Moo remarked, "I'm glad you got to see someone actually make a goal." This would prove to be an (unusually?) exciting match.

On the front row behind the goalpost sat the typical soccer hooligans. They had a drum and flags and all dressed in blue; in many ways similar to the Utes' student section at a home game. They were vulgar and rambunctious enough, but would need cheerleaders, a marching band, warpaint, and about three times as many people to really hold a candle.

Shortly after Oviedo's first goal, Gijón scored one as well. They remained at a draw until the very last seconds of the game, when Gijón made some kind of foul, allowing Oviedo to make a penalty kick. With the clock at zero, Oviedo scored the winning goal and the place went insane. Everyone jumping and screaming, multiple flares were lit, and the hooligans rushed onto the field. They did a comical about-face when the S.W.A.T. team in full riot gear appeared, and resigned themselves to hollering in the stands like everyone else.


It was cool to finally see what all the to-do is about. Fútbol is definitely a major cultural phenomenon here. There were whole families in the stands, enjoying watching the home team beat the cross-town rival. People of all ages joined in cheering for Oviedo, and maligning Gijón (I heard a 9-year-old yell "¡¡Gijón, hijo puta!!").

What a fun weekend! and month. and year ^__^

¡CARNAVAL!

Carnaval is something a little bit foreign to us Americans. When I hear the word I think of Rio de Janeiro and wild samba and women wearing more feathers than clothing. This is only the most well known Carnaval celebration. In Spain every city, town, and village pretty much has some sort of festivity or another. In some places it lasts as long as a month! Here in Asturias it is a week long, with each of the three largest cities, Avilés, Gijón, and Oviedo, each hosting a celebration on a different day.

Carnaval is a mostly Catholic celebration taking place right before the period of Lent (Cuaresma in Spanish) when people are to fast and repent during the 40 days leading up to Easter. It is a time when all the rules of good behavior are suspended and excess is allowed. It also marks the end of winter and welcomes in the spring (first blossoms on the trees sighted today, 23 February!). Everybody dresses up in disguises and there are parades and everyone is more festive. As far as the U.S. is concerned, Louisiana, being a former French colony and thus Catholic, is the only place I know of that has this sort of celebration. Here in Asturias there's nothing as raucous or debaucherous as Mardi Gras, but it's the same inspiration.

The party began Saturday in Avilés. After weeks of flip-flopping, I finally made up my mind to dress as a died-in-the-wool rootin' tootin' cowboy. Ever the procrastinator, I began my costume search Friday afternoon. Seeing as how I grew up in a pretty rural part of Utah, I personally know cowboys. They were my fellow classmates for most of my life and even had their own clique (or gang even) in high school. So I have a pretty good idea what I would need to wear to look as authentic as possible. As cruel fate would have it, accoutrements such as a belt buckle, cowboy boots, and a hat, ever so essential to the cowboy look, are completely unavailable here. In Utah I could find a warehouse of cowboy paraphernalia at bargain-basement prices in less time than it takes my Spanish friends to translate my exceedingly verbose blog. Here in Spain, though, cowboys are little more than a rumor. After scouring some discount retail stores, every Chinese Bazaar within 10 minutes of my house (and that's well over 10 stores, each full of all the crap you never wanted in the world) and the thrift store, I began to realize that boots and buckles were not so easy to come by.

A bit defeated, I picked up a plastic gun and holster at Yi Wan Long Bazar, and resigned myself to the pre-packaged, Spaghetti Western-style, costume shop cowboy hat. I made the belt buckle out of a tacky metal picture frame from the Chinese bazaar, and ultimately gave up on the boots. For the remainder I had only to look in my closet, which did make me think, "So, do I already dress like a cowboy?..."


It definitely wasn't what I had hoped for in a costume. A cowboy without cowboy boots? It's a contradiction in terms. All in all it was a pretty second-rate result, but such is a procrastinator's life. But, then again, while other people may have had better cowboy costumes, none of them could talk like a cowboy or sing "Down in the Valley" or line dance, so I added my own authenticity.

The bus ride to Avilés was a very interesting 30 minutes.

This looks like snow, but it is in fact FOAM. The main draw of Avilés is that in the afternoon the firefighters shoot foam from hoses at the hordes of people in rain gear. Even children participate, and the foam can get up to 3 ft (1 m) high! Sadly, we only got there in time to see the aftermath, but as you can see, there is still a good 6 inches in some places.

This photo was taken around midnight, which is still quite early in Spain so there were adorable children running around. I saw entire families dressed as bears, clowns, birds, Indians, Mexicans . . .

There was a large stage with music blasting, but it was pretty unremarkable in itself. There was this lady dancing on stage and I thought, how nice they got some local girl to dance, she's not bad. Come to find out it's the lead singer of DJ Sammy (don't worry if you haven't heard of them . . .)

My friend Rabea and I.

It was really fun to be in a new city, out on the town with my friends. It was pretty cold, high 30's (~3˚C), but luckily my costume was in itself quite warm with the coat, hat, bandanna and gloves.

After we'd gotten our fill of Avilés we stopped at one of the many Turkish Kebap restaurants and ate a "midnight" snack of the most delicious dürüm I have ever tasted. They're the closest thing to burritos I can find here (that is available at the wee hours anyway). Fat and happy, we grabbed the bus back to Oviedo and fell asleep.


If that weren't enough excitement, the following Monday was fiesta in Gijón. I decided to just reuse the costume, since it would be new to the people in Gijón, at least. With a veritable herd of friends in tow, we departed Oviedo once again.

The people I spent much of the night with.

My friend Paula (lion) watches as her sister María pours cider (sidra). This is a very Asturian sight, I'm glad I finally got a picture! It is always poured from way up high (even indoors in restaurants, leading to rather sticky floors here...), which helps mix it or something, and you drink just a little bit, very quickly, then throw out the dregs. It's pretty tasty, but the most appealing thing is really the uniqueness of the whole process.

Some San Fermines (running of the bulls) and their botellón. They dressed a shopping cart up as a bull as well!

Legos

Jaime being a bit mad.


Here's a video of the plaza, with some very Spanish sights.

This bar is like a cave.

Priceless photo; From left, new friend Hiroto, Jaime, and me.

Cecilia (right) and her friend, now in a less cave-like locale.
Hiroto makes an awesome Japanese photo face.

Jaime, María, and Eimear; resting our weary legs. This was followed by a most delicious Kebap (noticing a pattern?). After spreading the wonders of the "Second-Wind Dance", which Sadie taught me back in Salt Lake, we were ready for more.

We don't take too kindly ta yer folk 'round here.

After this though we were truly exhausted, so headed back to the bus station. To our great grief, we learned that there would not be any buses back to Oviedo until 6:45 am!! As temperatures plunged, we searched desperately for someplace to wait out the next two hours. There were no cafés or even normal bars open at such hours, at least none nearby, so we were forced to huddle together like hobos on the hard concrete floor in front of the parked buses. To pass the time I sang patriotic songs and cowboy tunes with my English friends Moo and Jenny, which I'll admit must have looked quite insane, but, desperate times . . .

Gijón was a great time, all told. I loved everyone's costumes and all the fun places we went. I'd say it was even more fun than Avilés. The complete and total lack of organization, on the other hand, was anything but fun. I have this image, of a board meeting at ALSA, the bus company. They thought, "I've got it! We'll hire a mogollón of extra buses to bring the hundreds (thousands?) of people to Gijón!" then closed the books and went to take a siesta and/or drink some sidra... Maybe they thought we'd all want to stay til dawn? I mean, granted, it was Monday night, but it was also carnaval for goodness sake. It's just unfortunate that such a great Spanish celebration had to be tainted with the oh-so typical mess that is administration here. Oh well, you take the good with the bad and such is life.

The next day, in Gijón was another important part of the carnaval festivities: the Burial of the Sardine. This woman dresses up as a sardine and parties around town Monday, then Tuesday they ceremonially "bury" her at the beach, and señoras cry their eyes out.


And then it's the end of Carnaval. I, of course, was not about to get on another ALSA bus so quick, so I missed out. But it's an interesting bit of folklore.

What a minute? Did he say the end of Carnaval? Why yes, technically that should mark the beginning of Lent and giving up things that keep you from God et cetera. However, as a sure sign of the secular nature of this part of the world, Oviedo throws it's raucous Carnaval bash the first Saturday of Lent.

This fact inspired me to mix up my costume this time and be a sort of multi-denominational goodie goodie. It's mostly open to interpretation, I must admit (and very last minute).

Wicked part in the dead center of my hair? check. (Once again I already had most things, making me wonder about myself a little...)

Doing the make-up. Aren't his cuts frighteningly realistic?

Some of the gang ^__^

Now this next photo is extremely freaky, but also hilarious so I had to include it.





...






... wait






...






...

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡AAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! haha

Here you can see the mass of humanity,

in every corner,

in every direction.

Yeah, that's a girl Waldo painting a boy Waldo's lips.
It's Carnaval! Everything goes.

After getting seriously lost in a sea of people, I found some other friends.

After a while things did start to quiet down.

Until all that was left were a few especially die-hard revelers and lots of trash.

In short, it was an appropriately festive week and a half, and great to finally experience a sort of "typical Spanish holiday." And now I am definitely ready for a bit of the cuaresma spirit, I must say.

Until next time.

Study? Ski.

Tomorrow and Tuesday I have exams, meaning right now I should be studying. I took my first test Friday, on Sociolinguistics, and it was extremely easy. I don't want to get too comfortable or over-confident, but I really don't think I need to study too much. I really can't understand it, all the Spanish students are studying all day everyday. I must just have really easy courses. Also, I'm sure less is expected in general of foreign students.

I really just wish I could go back to class tomorrow. School starts Thursday. Thursdays, when I have one class. Then the next week is Carnaval, so I probably won't have class Monday or Tuesday. I'm starting to wonder when anyone actually learns anything here. It is great for exchange students, though, plenty of time to travel and almost no homework to worry about. I only wish I had had the money over these three weeks, I would've liked to have gone to the south of Spain or Galicia. Plenty of British people I know just went back home! How I envy them...

It hasn't been a complete waste of time for me, mind. A while back I went skiing for the first time this year, and for the first time in Europe. Granted, Spain can't hold a candle to the Alps, and Asturias is a joke even compared to Spain's other ranges, the Pyrenees or Sierra Nevada (the original ones). Still, it was great to get out on the slopes, and to see a new part of Asturias.

After being seriously stood up at my first attempt at a skiing outing (alone in the rain at 7 in the morning, not fun), my friend Cecilia invited me to go with her, her flatmate Dave and his girlfriend Pernille. After an hour's drive south of Oviedo in Dave's bass-ackwards British vehicle, through some charming villages, we arrived at San Isidro Estación Invernal. Temperature: 1 degree Celsius (35 F). Base Altitude: 1,500 m (5,000 ft).


Up here there was a decent amount of snow, though I was certainly worried on the drive up; it was still green and bare of snow until about 15 minutes before we arrived. As you can see, shrubs are still visible. It was a nice view from the top (2,100 m/6,900 ft).


It was definitely a new experience for me. There was a disgusting amount of people at the bottom chairlift, which was giving me all kinds of anxiety. I have never seen so many people at a ski resort. Just all standing around the lodge and lift area, chatting, waiting, showing off their fancy one-piece skisuits. It's boggling to think a world class ski resort like Snowbasin or Snowbird doesn't have to deal with this kind of crowding, and poky little San Isidro does.

Once I got up on the mountain, though, it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. For the most part I had room to maneuver. I was a bit amused and a bit perturbed to learn they blast cheesy elevator music from each lift tower. I guess this is very common in Europe, but I would have preferred a little more serenity.


The snow itself was also not as bad as I had (realistically) prepared myself for. It was like skiing in April, only this was January. I asked Dave about the powder situation in Europe, and he informed me that "powder isn't very big here." Powder's not big?? I still don't quite understand. When snow falls, it is powder, right? And then time or men in big machines make it not powder. I guess he means that everything is just cut runs, groomed for safety reasons or popular demand.

I learned a lot of things talking with these three. We got on really well. Cecilia and Dave are from England, and study English literature at Leeds University. Pernille is from Denmark and studies medicine. I, of course, couldn't help bringing up my own Danish and English ancestry more than a few times. Suffice it to say they are all well aware of Utah's immigrant history by now.

I also learned some new terminology, in both English and Spanish. Both "run" and "slope" are referred to as "piste" by the English (which sounds a bit too much like "pissed" for my taste, thank you), the Spanish equivalent being "pista." A ski pass is "forfait." The poma lift is very popular here, and goes by more or less the same name.

It ended up being a really enjoyable way to spend the day. Dave and I took turns teaching Cecilia to ski, and by closing time she was past the snowplow turn and starting on the Stim Christie. I got in some good turns as well.

We went again the next day and it was less than pleasant. It was a complete blizzard! I had to learn the Spanish word, ventisca, just to describe to people how bad it was. I really missed Utah that day. There was zero visibility and the snow had become choppy ice. I ate it hard when this madman cut me off and I hit a vicious patch of congealed slush. This in turn led to my explaining what a "yard sale" is . . .

Still, San Isidro wasn't all bad. It was a very comfortable temperature the one day, and the lodge had a liberal selection of après-ski refreshments the next . . . Also, it cost me a measly 30 Euros for a day pass and equipment rental. To make things even better, my student's dad lent me a coat, gloves, goggles, and snow pants. All in all it was very affordable, and a lot of fun, even when mother nature was uncoöperative.

If nothing else it's good to have the experience under my belt. I realized this was only my second time skiing outside of Utah (the other being New Mexico). This being only the first of many hopeful skiing adventures, I cannot yet comment on whether we Utahns do, in fact, have the greatest snow on earth. But I'm tempted to believe it. What I know for sure is that we are blessed with an amazing natural resource and I am definitely going to miss it, wherever life takes me.

Movin' on up

Hello Everyone!

I am writing you from my new desk in my new bedroom in my new apartment. I just moved in today and am enjoying pondering the possibilities of blank walls, a new neighborhood, and more spare money in my pocket. It wasn't the easiest decision, but I think it was the right one.

I really enjoyed living with Kike (my host family, whatever) while I did. I would definitely suggest staying there to others. It was a very comfortable, spacious place to live, with plenty to eat, internet, etc. And most importantly, Kike really helped me to get acquainted with Oviedo and Spain, how to get around, where things were, what to do. I still have the map he gave me my first day here, which I can remember consulting every time I left the house. Having guaranteed interaction in Spanish was also priceless. Aside from Skype calls, for the first month or so I don't know that I spoke a word of English. And it shows. I learned the basic survival language frantically fast. I think I probably had the best homestay of anyone, honestly. I could come home whenever I wanted, sleep as long as I wanted, and skip a meal if I wanted, as long as I gave fair warning, it was no problem.

Nonetheless, once you've lived alone, it is so difficult to go back to a family-like situation. Despite all the benefits and good intentions, I just felt like I was an adolescent there. Living by someone else's rules, no matter how reasonable, is exhausting! You wouldn't believe the number of little guidelines I was compelled to comply with, about cleanliness and order and organization. I mean, I'm a very fastidious person, but I felt like I had a checklist of things I had to do upon leaving or entering any and every room of the house. Despite my best intentions I just couldn't do all of them, which made me feel slovenly and irresponsible. At times it was suffocating!

The last straw came when Kike announced he would be raising my rent to 600 euros a month. Now, I get varying opinions on whether this is reasonable or not. Consider, ~$83o for rent, bills, and food, for one college student, in one bedroom, in a less-than-central location. I decided it was too much. Moreover, with the end of my scholarship money imminent, finances were becoming a serious concern. I still need a plane ticket home for goodness sake!

So here I am,

C/ Luis Braille 3, 4i
33011, Oviedo, Spain

As with anything it has its benefits and drawbacks. It's quite a bit smaller than my previous home, and I will really miss the view from my bedroom window. But it has all the things I need in a clean, cozy space, literally 2 minutes from class. And at less than half what I paid before, I had to take it.

Also on my mind was the realization that this is not only an amazing study abroad experience, it is also my last year of college. I want to live the student lifestyle to the maximum possible. This invariably means living with people your age, doing what you want when you want, being a bit irresponsible, and still somehow passing all exams. I reckon living here I'll feel less like a teenager and more like the Senior in college I am.

I now live with a guy named Diego. He's in his later twenties, born and raised here in Oviedo. He has quite a few things in common with my former roommate, and best of friends, Adaline. He is into photography and vinyl records, so I'm hoping he's somewhat as cool a person as she. He is employed at some photography store and has loads of books and magazines on the subject. He is also into Kendo, a Japanese martial art involving sword fighting. Other than that I'm still getting to know the guy, but he seems nice and down-to-earth.

PHOTO EVIDENCE

My new bedroom, where I am currently writing this. No ocean views or anything, but I get the Viajar ("travel") channel so I'll survive.


The living room (with aforementioned records and photo publications)


The kitchen (dishwasher! And this mysterious device which is a microwave, convection-, and regular oven combined.)


And maybe best of all, I finally have someplace to put my extensive magnet collection ^_^.


So, now I've been in Spain for 4 months, traveled to the largest cities and the teeniest pueblos, and lived in or visited various homes. Thus, I kind of thought it'd be interesting to compare how people live in the USA to how they live in Spain.

For many of you this might seem extremely inane, but this is one area where the U.S. differs greatly from Spain, and I thinks it's just a fascinating reflection of cultures. In the U.S., almost everyone lives in a neighborhood like this:

Of course, this is a bit of an extreme example (most streets do have sidewalks). Lots of people live a more urban or a more rural life, but still the vast majority of Americans live in a suburb not unlike this, 1-2 stories with a little yard, two-car garage, and a mortgage. It's very quiet, very spacious, very safe. And in my opinion very very boring.

This is a picture taken just around the corner from where I live now. Many people have the impression that everyone in Europe lives in breathtaking 18th Century architectural gems. This is very much not the case.

As you can see, most buildings are from the last half-century. I actually looked at one apartment in the historic part of town and though it had a beautiful façade, it was falling apart inside. Though it pained me, I chose beautiful on the inside (the more you know...)

So how do the Spanish live? Well the buildings all have at least five stories, most people (in northern Spain) don't even have a balcony, much less a yard, and if you happen to own a car you're parking it at least a few blocks away. It's not always quiet, we're crammed in like sardines, and I have to remember to close the blinds because my neighbor, 10 yards away, could very easily spy on me. And does.

Most people look out their windows at brick, concrete, and clothes drying. The blue thing is like an umbrella for the clothes, since they would sure take a long time to dry getting rained on every day.

It's maybe not the most romantic view of Europe, but it's not so bad. I love that anything I want or need to do in my daily life is no more than a 15 minute walk away. I can go to school, the gym, the supermarket, the mall, the park, bars, and all my friends' houses much more quickly and easily than I could at home even when I had a car. And it's still very safe. Somehow there are no homeless people, and crime (property or violent) is lower than even little Salt Lake.

It's also really interesting when you compare these two lifestyles with that of England. While England is, obviously, still very European, you can kind of see how the American mindset descends from the British. In England most people live in houses. They might be subdivided, squished together, with little or no yard (perhaps why they call the yard a "garden"...), but they're still houses. A greater percentage of Londoners likely live in houses than do Asturians. It's just a matter of priorities, I guess.

One more side note to this side note, when I was looking for pictures of American suburbs I found this one. Only, when I looked at the website, I saw that this picture was actually taken in China. This freaks me out a little bit. What is this world coming to??

In summary, my new home is indeed pretty sweet. I think I'm gonna go make me some lunch and practice my Spanish food cooking skills so I can impress you all when I get back.

ttfn!